


all the little things

by jilliancares



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 5+1 Things, College, Drinking, Keith has a motorcycle, M/M, Parties, Pining, absolute fun college vibes, and a giant crush on lance, bc i have strep throat HAHAHHAHA SO FUN!!!!!, can i call this a sick fic if i wrote it while sick?', lance is oblivious, they both be doin dat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:48:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24862552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jilliancares/pseuds/jilliancares
Summary: Or: 5 times Keith let Lance get away with things that he'd never let anyone else do, and 1 time Lance realized that he was, apparently, special
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 175
Kudos: 1678
Collections: For all your Klance needs





	all the little things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hiuythn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiuythn/gifts).



> hiuythn: this is my favorite trope  
> me: you FOOL!!!!! you activated my trap card!!!!!!
> 
> anyway this is a gift to hiuythn just for being great as always. if you haven't checked out her fics before then do yourself a favor and just. just go read 'em. i'm telling you that you will Ascend 😤

1.

There are days where Lance knows, innately, that there is no way in hell he’s going to class.

This isn’t to say that Lance doesn’t skip class very often. Unfortunately, he’s always had a bit of a bad relationship with school. It’s just hard for him to sit still and pay attention for such a long period of time, and though he studies hard and actually works for his grades, he’d probably be doing even better if the majority of his classes didn’t grade attendance as well.

But most of the time, when Lance ends up skipping class there’s a lot of back and forth in his mind. A near constant argument as he drags himself out of bed and out of his apartment as he weighs the pros and cons. A constant internal monologue of _I’ve already skipped this class four times this semester_ and _but today’s just a review day, and I’ll review better in the library anyway…_

The times where Lance wakes up and _knows_ , undoubtedly, that he isn’t going to class — there’s always a good reason.

Like the time when his abuela was sick in the hospital and he woke up, shoved a change of clothes into his backpack, and drove eight hours straight to get there. Or the time when he was going through a rough breakup and woke up feeling like his body was filled with lead, the possibility of getting out of bed entirely nonexistent.

Today, Lance wakes up and his throat feels like the Sahara Dessert. He’s sweating under the blankets as he shivers, and trying to swallow has him grimacing and stopping in the middle of the motion, just lying there for a moment with an uncomfortable amount of saliva in his mouth.

 _Yeah_ , he thinks. _There’s no way I’m going to class today._

He lays there for maybe two minutes, debating between just going back to sleep or warning Hunk about his condition, before finally grabbing his phone as his makes his decision. At least if he warns Hunk he might get a glass of water out of it.

9:06  
hey i’m not going to class today btw  
the devil has, as a matter of fact, invaded my body

9:06  
oh no!!!! what’s wrong? do you need anything?

9:06  
sore throat :(((  
and maybe water? and some tylenol or something? :(

Minutes later, the door creaks open as Lance’s knight in shining armor enters the room. Hunk’s holding a glass of water, a bottle of Advil, and a granola bar.

“You shouldn’t take medicine on an empty stomach,” Hunk says preemptively, crossing the room.

“I’m in love with you,” Lance says, scooting into a sitting position so he can accept the water.

“I can take notes for you today,” Hunk promises, and Lance takes a moment to thank the universe for delivering the best friend anyone could ever ask for to him, of all people.

It’s a few hours later when Pidge texts him, after Lance has napped fitfully and finally managed to drag himself out of bed in order to raid Hunk’s tea supply.

12:36  
i hear you’re on death row

12:36  
if by death row u mean injecting myself with dayquil  
then yes.  
will u take notes for me today

12:37  
Negative  
i’m skipping business bc that class makes me wanna kms

12:37  
NOOOO  
I NEED NOTES

12:38  
sux 2 suck

12:38  
bitch  
r u eating lunch w keith rn

12:39  
obvs

12:39  
okay tell him to take the notes then pls

12:39  
lmao are you delusional  
keith doesn’t take notes for anybody

12:39  
yes he does!!! just ask him!!!

12:39  
the fever has rattled your brains  
goodbye lance. i fear death has you in its clutches

12:39  
omg just ask keith  
dramatic ass

12:41  
wtf  
he said yes  
what kind of sorcery is this

12:41  
tell him thank u and i owe him one :)  
bye have fun skipping class!!

2.

“ _Boy_ am I glad to see you guys,” Lance says, sliding into the seat across from Keith. Allura’s sitting beside him, the table before her covered in notes, as per usual.

Typically, food isn’t allowed in the library, but either Keith doesn’t know that or he doesn’t care. He has a plate of fries and chicken nuggets sitting in front of him, which is atrocious for exactly two reasons.

First, there are no condiments of any kind adorning the plate, because Keith is insane and claims not to like any condiments. (Lance is still trying to convince him to like ranch _at least_ , because if there’s one condiment a person needs to enjoy, it’s that one.)

And second: the plate appears to be from the dining hall. Meaning that Keith entered the dining hall, loaded up his plate, and then stole both the plate and the food before walking across campus without a care in the world. Which, honestly, kind of sounds like him, so Lance can’t decide whether he should be surprised or not.

“Why are you glad to see us?” Allura asks.

“Besides the general joy of running into your friends on accident?” Lance says, reaching across the table to steal of one Keith’s fries. Allura shoots him a look, her eyes wide. Keith ignores her and nudges the plate to the center of the table. “I actually needed an opinion on something. I’m having a bit of a dilemma.”

“Ooh, problem solving,” Allura says, pushing her notes away all too happily. She studies too much, if you ask Lance. It’s why she’s too easy to goad into taking a break.

“What is it?” Keith asks.

“So, I’m kind of friends with this girl in one of my classes. Like, we sit next to each other and we’ll chat before the professor gets there or whatever,” Lance says.

“Right,” says Allura.

“But yesterday, she asked me for my number since we’re partners for this project.”

“Makes sense,” Allura agrees.

“That’s what I thought!” Lance says. He pauses with his hand over a chicken nugget. “Can I steal one of these?”

“Go ahead,” Keith says, and Lance hums his thanks around a mouthful of chicken.

“Anyway,” he continues. “Today she texted me, totally unrelated to the project, and asked if I wanted to go to the movies with her.”

“Oh shit,” Allura says. Keith grabs a handful of fries, chewing on them studiously.

“I know,” Lance says. “But I’m always the one who asks people out — I’ve never had to reject someone before. How can I, like, let her down nicely?”

“You don’t want to go out with her?” Keith asks, hastily swallowing his mouthful of fries.

“Not really,” Lance says. “I mean, I don’t really like her like that. But I don’t want to hurt her feelings, either,” he sighs.

“Give me your phone,” Allura says, her hand already outstretched, and Allura reads through the conversation once before composing the perfect text: polite and honest and not at all like the awkward rejection Lance had been planning in his head.

He sighs thankfully, turning his phone face down on the table after they all watched with bated breath as Allura hit send, and leans back in his chair. He picks up a fry and points it at Keith.

“These would be better with ranch, you know.”

“Lance,” Keith huffs immediately, already building himself up to an argument, but Lance just grins and pops the fry into his mouth, kicking Keith lightly in the ankle as he does.

3.

_“Laaaast cup, last cup, last cup, last cup!”_

Lance flicks off his friends as they sing, grabbing the bitch cup with a grimace and raising it to his mouth. It tastes like shit, and Lance knows for a fact that there’s more than just beer in here. Also, he’s still convinced that Pidge cheated on the last round. This cup should’ve been hers.

He slams the cup back onto the table before they’ve even finished singing one chorus. Hunk slaps him on the back as he cheers and Lance stumbles away from the table, definitely sitting the next round out.

“Water?” Allura says, when he manages to squeeze past the chairs and tables in the cramped living room and emerge in the kitchen.

“Dear God, please,” Lance says, and she passes him a cup filled with water. It tastes deliciously like not-alcohol.

Lance leans against the counter, his eyes slipping closed for a moment.

“I told you to sit out that round,” Allura says, sounding amused.

“I’m the master of Stack Cup,” Lance says. “I never get stacked.”

“Right.”

“Except for this one time,” Lance corrects. Allura lost the previous round, and considering the fact that Lance was the one who stacked her, he’s almost surprised that she’s being so nice to him. Then again, she’s Allura. She always seems more sober than she actually is at a party and never fails to help her friends get home safely.

Plus, when she does enact revenge, it’ll be when Lance is least expecting it.

“I think Keith’s on the deck,” Allura says, and Lance blinks into his cup for a moment, wondering if he zoned out on their conversation or not. He doesn’t remember asking where Keith was, but it sounds like something he’d so. Especially while drunk enough to not care what it sounded like.

“Thanks,” Lance says regardless, and he tugs a strand of Allura’s hair as he slips past her, sliding the glass door open and stepping out onto the deck.

Allura was right. Keith is on the deck, but Pidge is out here too, which throws Lance for a loop for a moment. He was pretty sure she was still playing when he left the living room, which either means he mistook someone else for Pidge or he was standing in the kitchen for longer than he thought. Either way, he’s drunker than he realized.

“Smokers,” Lance scoffs, pitching up against the railing next to Keith.

“You have a Juul,” Pidge points out, and Lance waves her away.

“I lost it,” he says, deftly plucking Keith’s Juul out of his hand. Keith doesn’t protest, just letting it happen.

“That’s not the only thing you lost,” Pidge says.

Lance elbows Keith. “You hear this bitch? She _cheated_ and now she thinks she gets to gloat.”

“I did _not_ ,” Pidge protests, but Lance manages to block out her voice as the buzz of nicotine thrums through his veins. He’ll definitely regret this in the morning. Hopefully he won’t manage to find his Juul.

“Sounds like you’re a sore loser, Lance,” Keith says. His voice is low and Lance can tell he’s drunk, too. He slings an arm around Keith’s shoulders, turning them both to face Pidge.

“Look at her, Keith,” Lance says. “Tell me that’s not the face of a liar.”

“I’m not the one you should be worried about,” Pidge says. “You’re the one currently hugging grumpypants. He doesn’t even let Shiro hug him.”

Keith stiffens against Lance’s side and Lance takes offense on Keith’s behalf.

“Just what I would expect from you!” Lance says dramatically. “More lies!” He turns, wrapping his free arm around Keith’s waist and hugging him from the side. “Keith loves my hugs!”

Pidge squints, in what Lance likes to call her Calculating Face, so he sticks his tongue out at her and unwinds himself from Keith, turning toward the door.

“Come on,” he says. “I bet I can convince Allura to make us frozen drinks. I heard she brought popsicles.”

“Sounds great,” Keith says, sounding relieved, but Pidge doesn’t follow after them. She stays out there on the deck, leaning against the railing and staring after them consideringly.

4.

It’s an hour past midnight, Lance has a final in less than nine hours, and his only hope of passing is currently on his third stress-induced cup of decaffeinated Earl Grey — and Shiro’s not even the one taking the final.

“Does that make sense?” Shiro says, sliding the notebook back to Lance’s side of the coffee table.

He’s been studying for his physics final only for the last day and a half, solely because it’s his last final of the week and the four finals preceding it took precedence. He’d thought he was more prepared than he was, but then he found out in a horrifying manner (e-mail) that their professor was no longer allowing a cheat-sheet for the final, which is possibly the most evil thing a professor could do on the eve of the biggest test of the semester. Honestly, he’s never even heard of a professor going back on something like that before.

Needless to say, he spent the day holed up in the library and panicking, planning to consume enough coffee and Red Bull to keep him going all night. Only then, he felt, would he be able to retain all the theories and formulas.

Thankfully, Keith came across him on his way out of the library, finding Lance dressed in sweats, his hair a mess, and with bags under his eyes — basically, how he’d rarely ever allow himself to look in public.

Honestly, it’s thanks to Keith and his night-owlish tendencies that he’s even here now. After allowing Lance to give him the run-down and complain in equal measure, Keith had explained that Shiro took physics his senior year and had helped Keith study for his own exam the previous year. He’d offered to text Shiro and see if he’d be up for a late-night review session, and now Lance is here, occupying the couch in their living room.

Shiro still lives in town thanks to an awesome internship he qualified for, and because of that, Keith still has a roommate.

Keith himself is currently laying on the couch next to Lance, scrolling on his phone as Lance and Shiro review together.

“That does make more sense,” Lance agrees, scanning Shiro’s notes. “The way my professor explained it was stupid.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean — I had him too.”

“I’m getting a snack,” Keith announces, rolling off of the couch and stretching. He looks adorable — his hair rumbled, his sweatpants folded once at the waist because they’re too long, and his boxers just barely peeking out of them when his shirt rides up. “You guys want anything?”

“I’m good,” Shiro says, just as Lance says, “Chips.”

Keith disappears into the kitchen as Shiro turns the page of his notebook, where thankfully the study guide ends.

“Oh, thank God,” Lance says, before grabbing Keith’s phone where he left it on the couch and taking a picture of the page. He’d taken the previous pictures on his phone, but after he’d gotten down to two percent, he’d ended up plugging it in in Keith’s room.

He types in Keith’s passcode and opens the message app, clicking on his contact and sending the picture to himself. When he looks back up, Shiro is gaping at him.

“What?” he says.

“You know Keith’s passcode?”

“Yeah,” Lance says. “You don’t?”

“I don’t think _anyone_ does,” Shiro says, just as Keith comes back into the room. Shiro stares at him fearfully, as if expecting him to berate Lance for using his phone, but Keith doesn’t even give him a second look. He just plops onto the couch beside Lance and throws him the bag of Doritos.

“Sorry,” he says. “We don’t have the blue ones.”

“The superior ones, you mean,” Lance corrects.

“Cool Ranch doesn’t even come close.”

“You’re lactose intolerant,” Lance says. “You shouldn’t even _like_ the nacho ones. Right Shiro?”

“Huh?” Shiro says, still seemingly in a state a shock.

Lance drops it and Shiro continues to tutor him. Lance gives Keith’s phone back wordlessly and Keith scrolls until he falls asleep right there on the couch, despite his room being less than ten steps away.

Lance ends up sitting there on the couch a while longer, determined to keep studying even after Shiro heads to bed. He only realizes that he fell asleep once he wakes up the next morning, his alarm going off in the other room and his back aching from the awkward sleeping position. He’s curled up on the end of the couch, his head resting on the arm with Keith’s legs thrown over his lap.

Even still, he manages to ace his exam.

5.

Today was supposed to be great.

It’d been a long winter break — good in the sense that he got a break from schoolwork, bad in the sense that he didn’t get to see his friends for a month and a half — and he’s been looking forward to today for the past several weeks.

He and his whole group of friends decided to come back a week before classes started, just so they could have some time to hang out without having to worry about scheduling around classes and homework and extracurriculars. Everyone’s due to arrive at his and Hunk’s apartment tonight — they’d planned a little welcome back party for everyone — but Lance is currently stranded on the exact opposite side of town, at least an hour’s walk away from his apartment.

It wouldn’t be such a big deal if his phone weren’t dead. Or if the campus buses ever came to this side of town. As it is, he ended up letting Pidge borrow his car before remembering he had errands to run. And so he Ubered all the way over here to pick up some last minute Christmas presents (Pidge really likes novelty buttons, and the thrift store never fails to have an awesome selection of them) and now he’s stranded.

Without any better options, Lance starts walking, his mood souring further until he remembers that he knows at least one of his friend’s numbers by heart. (How could he not? The middle three digits of Keith’s phone number are 420.)

It only takes another minute or so before Lance passes another pedestrian and has the courage to ask to borrow her phone. Thankfully, she hands it over without much fuss and Lance enters the number, hoping he hasn’t messed up any of the digits.

Honestly, Lance knows it’s a long shot. Keith doesn’t answer phone calls very often — _why are you calling me? You could’ve texted that_ — and he answers calls from unknown numbers even less. But, by some miracle, it’s his voice that answers when the call finally goes through.

“Hello?” he says, sounded wary.

“Keith!”

“Lance? Whose phone are you calling from?”

“A stranger’s,” Lance says, smiling at the girl over his shoulder. “My phone died. I’m stranded on the opposite side of town.”

“You need a ride,” Keith concludes, and Lance hears someone yelling in the background — it sounds like people are already arriving for the party. Keith must be at his apartment already.

“Yes, please,” Lance says, before rattling off the street name. Keith assures that someone will swing by to get him soon and Lance returns the borrowed phone to its owner, thanking her profusely.

He sits on the curb while he waits, the street having light enough traffic that he doesn’t feel like a nuisance doing so, and it takes him a moment after he sees a motorcycle roaring down the street to realize it’s Keith.

Honestly, he expected Keith to send Hunk to pick him up. Or maybe Shiro.

“Hey,” Keith says, his bike rumbling quietly once he pulls up next to Lance.

“You’re telling me _I_ get to ride the legendary motorcycle?” Lance says, taking a step closer.

“It’s not legendary,” Keith says.

“It is,” Lance argues. “Everyone always talks about you having a motorcycle, but I’ve never even seen it before.”

“I walk to campus,” Keith says. “And you usually pick me up if I’m going to your house. And Shiro drives me most other places.”

Lance whistles, still in awe. He was kind of convinced that everyone was lying about Keith having a motorcycle. He must park it on the back side of his apartment, too, because Lance has never seen it out front.

“Shut up,” Keith says, not sounding hostile in the slightest. He tugs the helmet off his head and hands it to Lance. “And put that on.”

“Don’t you need it?”

“You’re more likely to fall off than I am,” Keith claims, which Lance figures should probably unsettle him, but he’s too excited to care.

He clambers onto the bike, looking around for where to put his feet and then scooting a little closer after wrapping his arms around Keith’s waist. “You should let me drive,” Lance jokes.

“Not even a helmet could protect you if you drove,” Keith retorts, and he revs the engine once before they’re shooting off down the street.

Originally, Lance just had his arms around Keith’s waist. The second they take the first turn, Lance is plastered to Keith’s back, hugging him as tight as humanly possible. He can feel his heart thundering in his chest, his fingers digging into Keith’s clothes, the wind tugging at his own shirt. He even feels it when Keith chuckles, slowing down a bit so Lance can catch his breath.

“You’re insane,” Lance shouts.

“I’m driving carefully right now,” Keith answers. “Precious cargo, and all that.”

Lance wants to gloat over the compliment, but he’s honestly too concentrated on clinging to Keith for dear life. It takes them maybe half the time to get to Lance’s apartment than it would usually take for Lance to drive there, and despite the fact that his legs are shaking when he gets off and his hands are damp with sweat, his body’s thrumming with adrenaline and excitement.

Keith even has the decency not to say anything about the time Lance shrieked when he went around a corner too fast, instead allowing Lance to brag to all of their friends about how he rode on Keith’s motorcycle, much to their amazement.

+1

Honestly, it’s an accident when Lance lets it slip that he’s kind of head over heels for Keith.

The thing is, he wasn’t really planning on acting on it anytime soon. Maybe anytime ever. It’s just that they’re such great friends, and they haven’t always been. Back during their freshman year, they lived on the same hall in their dorm and they had this sort of animosity between them. It wasn’t until the end of the year that Lance even tolerated him, thanks to all of his friends betraying Lance and befriending Keith.

But it’s been a long time since then, and now Lance can’t even imagine college without Keith by his side. So why would he want to fuck that up? Not to mention Keith would probably feel incredibly awkward even knowing how Lance felt about him.

And yet, drinking is a thing. And however much Lance might want to deny it, he’s really not the best at holding his liquor. Drunk Lance is even worse at keeping his mouth shut, and last night, Lance managed to mention to not one, not two, but _three_ of his friends that he would in fact very much like to kiss Keith on the mouth.

Now, the people Lance chose to tell these things to are both the best and worst people he could’ve chosen.

Hunk, because although Lance loves him to death, he’s absolutely horrible with any kind of secret. Just knowing that he has knowledge that someone else doesn’t makes him act all weird and anxious around them.

Pidge, because she’s an actual gremlin and won’t hesitate to ruin Lance’s life or maybe blackmail him until the end of his days thanks to the knowledge she holds.

And Allura, because she’s an incessant meddler and, more worryingly, because she likes to play matchmaker when she’s drunk.

Even despite these faults, Lance is glad he only told them and not Keith or Shiro. There’s no way Shiro would be able to hold onto that knowledge without revealing it to Keith. And Keith _is_ Keith, which thankfully Drunk Lance was able to understand, at the very least.

Except now Lance is suffering from the mistakes he made last night. The hangover absolutely doesn’t help.

“Lance!” Allura exclaims once again, needlessly, as he groans where he leans against the counter. He’s on his second glass of water and has yet to ingest any Tylenol, so despite the fact that it’s in fact almost the afternoon, it’s still much too early for this.

He doesn’t even know why he let her ( _and Pidge_ ) sleep here last night. They probably weaseled their way into a sleepover, knowing that they’d be able to continue Lance’s aborted conversation once he was sober, whether he liked it or not.

“Allura,” Lance says, at a much more reasonable tone. “Please. Allow me to pass away peacefully before we decide to talk about this.”

“Absolutely not,” Pidge says, walking into the kitchen next.

See, Allura not having a hangover is something Lance can understand. She drinks water between actual drinks and before bed to boot, so it makes sense. Pidge, on the other hand, is just the spawn of Satan. She’ll drink more than any of them, wake up before any of them, and then be in less pain than any of them. She probably really did sell her soul to the devil.

“Nooo,” Lance groans, cradling his water closer to his chest. If only he were the Wicked Witch of the West. Then he could pour the water on himself and melt into oblivion.

Hunk, obviously having heard the shrill voices of Lance’s tormenters, enters the kitchen next. “Thank God you told them last night too,” Hunk says preemptively. “If I knew this secret all on my own — oh boy.”

“Just forget it,” Lance says. “All of you. We don’t have to talk about it.”

“We _do_ ,” Pidge says.

“I don’t _want_ to talk about it.”

 _“We do,”_ Pidge repeats.

Lance groans again and Hunk takes pity on him, opening the medicine cabinet and tossing him the bottle of pain killers. Lance pops three into his mouth — he expects this to be a very painful conversation in particular — and hefts himself onto the counter by the sink, closing his eyes.

“So,” Allura says, sounding entirely too innocent based on what Lance suspects is going to come out of her mouth next. “You like Keith.”

“What are we, in second grade?” Lance scoffs. “So what if I’m attracted to him?”

“That’s not what you said last night,” Pidge points out. She’s actually pointing at him. If she were any closer, Lance would bite her finger. Just ‘cause. “You didn’t say you want to bone Keith, you were all like, _oh, his eyes! His hair! His personaaalityyy!_ ”

“I don’t sound like that,” Lance mumbles.

“Except you kind of did,” Hunk says. “How have you had a crush on Keith all this time without any of us knowing?”

“I’m casual about it,” Lance huffs. “He’s my friend first and foremost. I wouldn’t want to ruin that.”

Allura snorts. Lance glares at her.

“What’s so funny?” he says.

“Nothing,” she says unconvincingly, and then Pidge is laughing too.

“I will throw my water at you,” Lance threatens, gaze flicking between the two of them. It’s a terrifying sight — they’re both standing there with a hand pressed over their mouths, and they keep _looking_ at each other, and he can tell they’re both holding back laughter.

The only saving grace is that Hunk looks as confused as he does.

 _“What?”_ Lance demands. “What’s so funny?!”

“Just — it’s obvious!” Pidge says.

“It is _not_!” Lance says. “You guys never even realized I liked Keith!”

“Okay, that’s true,” Allura says. “But that’s also not what we’re talking about.”

“Then, what are you talking about?”

“Just that Keith is so obviously in love with you,” Pidge scoffs. Lance allows himself no more than ten seconds of gaping at her — just sitting there, mouth open, brain rebooting like an old Windows computer — before he snaps his mouth shut and glares at her.

“That’s not funny,” he says.

“She’s not joking,” Allura insists.

“He really does like you. He isn’t that good at hiding it.”

“What the hell are you guys talking about?” Lance says, and they share another conspiratorial look that shoves Lance one step closer to an early grave.

“I’m with Lance,” Hunk says, because he is and always will be a bro. “How do you know that Keith likes him?”

“Other than the longing looks and loving sighs?” Pidge says. She takes a decisive step back when Lance raises his glass threateningly. “He lets Lance get away with _everything_.”

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?” Lance snaps, offended.

“Nothing,” Allura assures him. “It’s just that Keith is a really nitpicky, easily annoyed kind of person. And nothing you do ever seems to annoy him.”

“He yells at me for half the stuff he lets you get away with,” Pidge adds.

“That’s so not true. We hated each other freshman year!”

“Sure, he wouldn’t have let you get away with these things _then_ , but that was before he was totally obsessed with you.”

“Name one thing,” Lance scoffs. Both Allura and Pidge try to talk at once, but Pidge wins out.

“He takes notes for you,” she says.

“Yeah, sometimes,” Lance says. “So what?”

But Allura’s standing there, open-mouthed. _“What?”_ she demands.

“I know,” Pidge says, nodding solemnly.

“I had to buy him lunch last semester just so he would share his notes with me,” she says. “He said it was my fault I got sick.”

Lance, inexplicably, feels his face start to heat. He’s already remembering a time last semester when he’d gotten Pidge to ask Keith to take notes for him, and she’d acted like he was insane for even thinking Keith would say yes…

 _“And,”_ Allura continues. “He shares his food with you. I go to the library with him twice a week, and the only time he’s ever let me have any of his food was when I was crying after I thought I failed a midterm.”

“Oh my God, Keith never shares food,” Pidge says. “He’s like an animal.”

“I know! And yet Lance waltzes in, steals fries off his plate, and Keith never says a word.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Lance says weakly. “I mean, I share things with him…”

“Oh my God, and the touching?” Pidge says, and Allura actually shrieks, giggling as she jumps in place, pointing at Pidge triumphantly. Pidge starts cackling, and Hunk exchanges a look with Lance, the both of their expressions the embodiment of: _what the fuck?_

“He _hates_ hugs,” Pidge says. “I think I’ve hugged Keith twice in all the years I’ve known him.”

Lance says nothing, because he doesn’t know what to say. He must hug Keith twice a _week_ , at the very least. Several times more if they all end up drinking together, but that’s only because Lance gets touchy when he’s been drinking. But often times when he meets up with Keith — or any of his friends! — he hugs them hello. Keith was probably just too polite to say anything about it.

And then, traitor of all traitors:

“Oh,” Hunk breathes. “His motorcycle.”

Pidge and Allura start shrieking again — Pidge is almost doubled over, clutching her stomach, and Allura keeps rubbing her eyes, wiping away tears that must be imaginary. Lance wants to say he feels sick because of the hangover, but he thinks it might really be because if they’re wrong, he’s going to be majorly upset.

Because if they’re _right_ , that means that he has a chance. That he could really tell Keith how he feels. That the two of them could be what Lance really wants them to be, what he only thinks about them being when it’s late at night and not too painful to hope for.

And right now, stubbornly, that hope is blooming in the light of day. And Lance really, desperately doesn’t want his friends to be wrong.

“Exactly,” Pidge breathes. “Shiro said that he’s never even been allowed to _touch_ Keith’s motorcycle.”

“Okay,” Lance says, and he repeats himself twice, just to get their attention. “So you guys think I actually stand a chance?”

“Lance,” Allura says gently. “I don’t think anyone _but you_ stands a chance.”

And. Well. Lance is hungover, okay? And yeah, he makes a lot of his stupidest decisions when he’s drunk, but a lot of the runners up happen when he’s trying desperately to remember how to be a person the next day.

So without another word to his friends — who all shout at him as he strides past them — Lance grabs his keys and jogs down the stairs outside their apartment.

He only sits in his car for a minute, his hands sweaty on the steering wheel, before he puts his car in drive and follows the well-known route to Keith’s apartment. He’s halfway there when he realizes that he never put on any music, and at that point he’s too anxious to distract himself with songs.

He nearly turns around three separate times before he gets there, and for the first time in his life, he sees Keith’s motorcycle parked out front. Convincing himself that it’s some sort of sign, he parks his car and takes the stairs two at a time, knocking lightly on Keith and Shiro’s door.

They did have a party here the night before, after all. It’s very possible that the two of them are still sleeping.

Thankfully, the door opens quickly.

“Here to help us clean up?” Shiro teases, opening the door wide. And then, knowing Lance too well: “What’d you forget?”

“I actually just needed to talk to Keith,” Lance says sheepishly, realizing how weird this is of him. He could’ve texted Keith. Could’ve asked him to meet up. Hell, he could’ve texted Keith his feelings plain and true and not have had to deal with whatever reaction Keith’s going to have in person.

Shame, Lance’s mama raised a romantic.

“I think he’s still asleep,” Shiro says. “You can go check.”

With that, he steps out of the doorway and Lance crosses the living room, slipping into Keith’s room as quietly as possible.

Shiro was right. Keith’s still knocked out, breathing evenly as he lays on his side, an arm curled under his head and the rest of his body hidden beneath the covers.

Instantly, Lance feels a little bit like a creep. He’s torn between not wanting to wake Keith up and not wanting to sit at his desk and stare at him like some sort of stalker, but he ends up waking him up anyway. If he doesn’t do it now, he’s going to lose his courage.

“Lance?” Keith mumbles, yawning as he shifts under the covers and squints up at Lance. “What are you doing here? What—” another yawn “—time is it?”

Lance shrugs. “Afternoon?” he guesses. And then, “I wanted to tell you something.”

Keith snorts, his eyes slipping shut again. “And it couldn’t wait?” he jokes. Lance wonders if he’s this nice to everyone who wakes him up for no good reason.

But, “No,” Lance says. “It couldn’t wait.”

Keith’s still laying there, looking peaceful and on the verge of falling back asleep. Lance’s knees are shaking — just a little — and his breath feels caught in his throat. Trapped in his lungs.

“I want to kiss you,” Lance blurts, because it’s what he was thinking right at that moment, but it wasn’t what he was planning on saying at all. “I mean — I want to date you. Take you out. All of it,” he manages. A whole jumble of words that don’t sound any bit eloquent and yet still have Keith’s eyes flying open.

He props himself onto his elbows, squinting at Lance suspiciously. “Are you being serious?” he says slowly.

Lance’s body is an inferno. He speaks through the pain of being burned alive. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” Keith says. And then: “Let me brush my teeth.”

Well. It wasn’t the answer Lance was hoping for. But then again, it wasn’t exactly a rejection either. So.

Lance nods, numb to the bone, and sinks onto the edge of Keith’s mattress after he slips out of the room, presumably to go brush his teeth. It takes Keith both a thousand years and just two seconds to return to the room, in which time Lance has mentally planned his escape (through the window) and calculated the resulting medical costs (death would be preferable).

“Okay,” Keith says again.

“Okay?” Lance answers, because his brain’s still running on adrenaline and desperation.

Keith nods seriously. “I’m ready to kiss you now,” he says simply, and something inside Lance _clicks_ in understanding before Keith’s sliding onto the bed next to him and Lance is twisting in place, reaching out and pulling Keith in.

Keith tastes like toothpaste. He’s warm and his kisses feel sleepy, because he’s been awake all but five minutes and now Lance is kissing him, is twining his fingers through his hair and stroking the side of his jaw.

When Keith pulls away, his face is flushed and Lance is trying to force the surprise out of his brain with the act of blinking alone.

“I thought you were rejecting me,” Lance says, grinning now.

“When?” Keith says. “When we were kissing?”

“When you left to go brush your teeth,” Lance says, and then giggles. “You just didn’t want to kiss me with morning breath?”

“I thought that was obvious,” Keith says, and now he’s laughing too. Lance groans, relieved and excited and happy, and he leans into Keith, burying his face in his shoulder.

“I can’t believe you like me.”

“I thought that was obvious, too.”

“So did everyone else, apparently.”

Keith stiffens. “Who’s _everyone else_?”

“Pidge and Allura,” Lance mumbles, still not having the energy to sit up properly. “I told them I liked you last night and they yelled at me all morning.”

Keith’s hand finds its way to Lance’s hip. His thumb is rubbing in circles. “That’s not nice,” he says. “You usually wake up hungover.”

Lance groans, leaning into Keith harder and pushing him back on the bed. Once Keith is horizontal, he cuddles into his side. “You’re the only one who understands me!” he moans, and Keith laughs, playing with Lance’s hair now.

“You can avoid them by staying here,” Keith suggests, just as Lance’s phone buzzes. “And you can avoid telling them how it went until tonight. Make them suffer a little.”

“Careful, Kogane,” Lance threatens. “Keep talking like that and I’ll fall even harder.”

Keith laughs, but that’s exactly what they do with their day, Lance even turning his phone off after reading everyone’s increasingly desperate and demanding texts.

It’s almost night by the time there’s a ruckus at the front door, the sound of what must be an entire army knocking against it, and Keith and Lance leave it to Shiro to answer. Moments later, there are four curious heads poking into Keith’s room, and Lance just grins at them.

“Yeah,” he says simply. “You guys were right.”

“How did you guys know I liked Lance, anyway?”

Pidge stares at Keith for a moment, her eyes all squinty and calculating. And then, apparently deciding to take mercy on him, she shrugs. “Just a vibe.”

**Author's Note:**

> WOO i hope u enjoyed and that also none of you have strep throat 🤪
> 
> p.s. this is the first time i can ever remember taking antibiotics hehehe. i have to take them four times a day and if u know me u know that i have a horrible memory. basically what i'm telling you is that if i overdose on these shits it's an accident LOL


End file.
